


The Blue Jay of Swan Lake

by WritingWeeb



Series: Originally For School [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Don't read if you are very sensitive, Historical Hetalia, Human AU, Human Nations | Countries (Hetalia), I'm not going to spoil too much, Lack of curse words, M/M, Originally an English Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22101475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingWeeb/pseuds/WritingWeeb
Summary: It's the Siege of Leningrad. People are dying. Men, women, and children are starving. There is little hope. In this land, there is little hope. Two people meet, Major Ivan Braginsky and Alfred F. Jones. Their relationship is up to interpretatiom but you just walked in on the middle of it.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: Originally For School [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590820
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was a project for English class where I was just supposed to write a short, three-paged story but I literally just ended up writing 19 pages of fanfiction.

The air smelled of rust. It smelled of gunpowder and dust with the background noise of yelling, gunfire, and bomb drops. The nice tune of illness and pain-filled screaming was such a thing as well. Of course, the place smelled and sounded of death.

_War was the cause of such a thing._

War was the cause of the smell of rust and death, and other than the battlefield no place was filled with such a foul smell such as the medic tent. Full of soldiers, young and old, poor and rich. All desperate. Everyone was so terribly desperate for this war to end. Especially the wheat blonde named Alfred F. Jones. Alfred faced death with child-like defiance as he saved the miserable lives of these soldiers. The famine-ravaged poor citizens and soldiers and the cold was a bittersweet thank you as the best defense against the Wehrmacht. Wounds were infected and limbs cut off. Lives taken away unfairly as final terrified, agonized sobs cut through the air.

Doctor Alfred Jones hated the sounds and smells of war--the sensations. He hated them more than anything. They made his ears ring and nose wrinkle. Made his head hurt and heart ache. Yet, these sounds made the American even more stubborn about helping this war turn around for the Allies and go south for the Axis. He worked for the Red Cross which had gone to the Eastern Front to aid the wounded who were becoming desperate as the German forces had almost completely encircled Leningrad and the Red Army, in a siege that had lasted years. The only desperate strip of land that was held in the starving and weakened hands of the Reds gently lay along Lake Ladoga. From that little desperate strip, the Road of Life was created. Trucks would ferry desperate people and much-needed supplies across the frozen lake as the fear of falling into the freezing lake would cause even the bravest soldiers to shake and the people doing their best to escape doubt and opt for staying in the mostly surrounded city. It was a short but terrifying journey as anything goes in war.

War wasn’t fair. That was a fact that Alfred was acutely aware of, aware of each time a young soldier, no older than 16 for Christ’s sake, would succumb to that final endless sleep. No matter his effort to pull them from death’s iron grip with futile with no hope for the young medic or the soldier. Thousands of refugees fled either to be a successful attempt at escape from Leningrad or die trying. His heart burned as he thought about the countless children and mothers, the old and small mowed down by guns or those who have fallen through the ice of Lake Ladoga in a sad, desperate attempt to flee. At least they wouldn’t have to deal with the hell hole that Leningrad had succumbed to. He paced, his fellow American soldiers here as well. They had drafted many of his fellow Americans out to war to aid the Soviets in a desperate attempt to turn this war around. This damn war that didn’t have to happen in the first place.

The people who fled filled Alfred with the same grim fear that the barely patched-up soldiers would when they threw themselves back against the Axis death machine. With all that weariness in his soul, Alfred grew increasingly determined to help with all that he had. He wanted to be the light of hope these people needed, the light of a lantern in a pitch-black, seemingly endless, tunnel.

His own spot of light, his own little lantern in that dark tunnel came from no one other than the heavy-footed and incredible major named Ivan Braginsky. His whole frame would fill the entrance to the tent; he was around six feet and in his mid-twenties. He’d give Alfred crooked smiles with crooked, light cigar-stained teeth that held a charm no other than the lumbering major had. His eyes were the most marvelous shade of violet, his family known for having such a rare gene that had Alfred entranced and lost in such pools of rare beauty. It was so hard to find beauty, charm, and hope these days and the major seemed to carry them all.

Speak of the devil. Ivan came lumbering in, cigar in mouth and a crooked smile. He was well aware of the reason lots of the soldiers smoked--it was distracting from the hunger that clawed itself in all their stomachs. Hunger from the famine and the fear of death that accompanied that pests known as guns and bombs. Alfred, regretfully, had taken up to smoking as well. He was terrified and starving but whenever Braginsky was around everything seemed to… brighten. It was marvelous.

“Hello Doctor Zhones,” Ivan spoke in that heavy accent of his that seemed to perfectly match his oversized frame, he never seemed to get Alfred’s last name quite right and Alfred never bothered to correct him finding it quite endearing. Upon entering the medical tent Ivan had snuffed out the cigar and thrown it away to avoid affecting the other patients. Alfred couldn’t help but smile at the other’s greeting and promptly replied with a respectful nod and a smiling, “Hello Major.”

Ivan was always popping in and out of the little medical tents and facilities, which are placed in the discreet parts of Leningrad to avoid bombing and attack. He had quite the grasp on English, even if some pronunciation and grammar did get a bit muddled his understanding was quite good. Whenever Alfred would inquire about his refusal to speak in Russian with the American medic he would jokingly claim, “It is so you do not kill my comrades with your terrible Russian Doctor Zhones!” Despite the fact that it was technically an insult Alfred would laugh along. As for an actual reason, that was never actually discussed between the two as Alfred would be too caught up in Ivan’s entertaining mannerisms. The major would always pop in not only to see Alfred but his fellow soldiers and civilians as well before he’d toss himself back into battle against the enemy with renowned vigor and determination. He’d also be in one of those hospital beds almost as often with a newly sustained injury.

Ivan was a very relentless and stubborn man when it came to battle as he would barely heal before launching himself back out with a smile “Thank you, Doctor Zhones,” as he went off to resume his military duties.

Even when Ivan was down long enough for Alfred to reprimand him with worried words that were utterly desperate with Ivan’s safety, demanding Ivan to care for his own well being only to get the same response as always with that silly insufferable charming cigar stained smile, “But Doctor Zhones! I have you to patch me up again!”

Antics such as these would brighten up the Red Cross worker’s day with Ivan being an intimidating delight to be around for a few seconds. A good solid moment. There would be no war, no death, no famine, no hunger. It would just be Ivan and Alfred and it was a wonderful thought but that was all it was… a thought. Alfred dreaded when Ivan would run out back into battle, his heart would sink and his stomach felt as if it was in knots. Hundreds and hundreds of curled up knots. All these feelings were because Alfred knew that Ivan may one day return without the crooked smile, without a rise and fall of his chest, without a pulse. That one thought, that singular pesky little thought of Ivan’s death, was what scared Alfred the most.

_Because if Ivan died Alfred’s light would be there no more._


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No summary here! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have many notes. Please leave feedback and tell me what I can improve on or just comment as you please.

Alfred was currently watching Ivan as he lay in a hospital bed, a bright crooked smile to lighten up the atmosphere. Alfred had pulled up a stool beside him as his fellow doctors tended to other patients that didn’t need too much tending to. Thank God for the winter. If he got through this alive he swore he’d start going to church on Sundays. 

Alfred had begun to space out until the Major awoke, his arm was bandaged as a faulty grenade had decided to go off. Thankfully, he had noticed and be able to throw it but the sharpnel just about managed to scrape up his arm so badly that it risked infection. They really needed better supplies. Scratch that, they needed supplies period. Before he began to think about how hard the famine was hitting them and how many times he’d have to refuse Ivan’s rations said Major spoke up.

_ “So Doctor Zhones. What is your favorite type of bird?” _

Alfred blinked at the sudden question and thought for a moment before responding, “Huh… I suppose that would have to be a Blue Jay.” The doctor had decided it was his favorite bird since he was little, he couldn’t help but notice how happy and blue the little birds seemed to be. Ivan smiled at him, the smile that caused his face to crinkle in happy lines and cigar stained teeth to show in a most cheerful manner. “Ah! Yes, they match your eyes Doctor Zhones. They are such a pretty blue like sky! But your are like ocean.” He spoke with that jittery yet endearing broken English of his. Alfred butted in of course his own curiosity of Ivan’s preference peaking, “So what’s your favorite bird Braginsky?” The major responded without a second thought, “Black swans. They are very beautiful but deadly… untouchable. The are elegant bird that are danger.” Alfred tried not snort at the thought of the bear of a soldier describing swans with the words _deadly_ and _danger_ , “You must really like them huh?” Alfred murmured, “Oh yes, I love them since I was little _mal'chik_.”

Time passed and Ivan had thrown himself back into battle with the Axis, leaving those knots of dread in Alfred’s stomach as he tended to the dying. Alfred hoped that Ivan wouldn’t end up like one of the dying soldiers. That Ivan would come back with that crooked smile, just popping in to keep up his soldiers morale and maybe have some small talk with Alfred. Truthfully, Alfred cared for all the soldiers. He hated how they’d have to launch themselves into battle with a gun that was most likely taken from cold dead hands. He detested it all but Ivan… Ivan was different, special. He brought so much light to such a dark time. Why would anyone want to snuff out such glorious light, such a good speck in this hell of a world? Death would. Death didn’t differentiate, death didn’t care how dark or bright someone was. Death was neutral. Bad or good death still took. Skin color didn’t matter because death would still grab. Death wasn’t black or white, nothing was black or white, everything was a bleak grey as different actions caused different outcomes.

All Alfred could do was pray for Ivan’s health.

_ Pray he’d come back alive and not in a body bag. _


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a long chapter.

The major returned with a horrid chest wound, his military uniform was in tatters that were stained by crimson. His military cap, that now had a new visibly large rip, and scarf were clutched feebly to his chest, covered in blood. Ivan would have never let that happen to that scarf. Ivan cared about that precious scarf more than any item he had. His breathing came in ragged wheezing and wet coughing as his skin was a chalky white.

Morphine was most certainly limited. There was very little of it despite the amount of soldiers that desperately needed it. The Soviets and Americans alike saved it only for the most state of emergency situations. Ivan was not one of these situations. Alfred wished he was considered one of these situations. Alfred wished Ivan got some morphine, because Alfred felt as if he was taking Ivan’s pain as well. He felt as if he chest constricted and stomach was in knots terrified of Ivan’s death. 

Ivan was scared. There was no other way to put it, the bullet had been removed with only minor complications that led to this current infection. He felt hot and cold all at once and everything burned and ached. He’d feel blood building up in the back of his throat that he’d have to spit out into a bucket. His eyes were watery and glossed over a lot of the time and he was finding it harder to stay awake. He knew his doctor was scared too. His Doctor would always be side glancing him, always staying with Ivan as long as he could before being forced to move onto the next patient that was in their own critical state. 

It was one of those rare times, where there were no patients to be helped beyond what they had already gotten and Alfred was by his side. Alfred was talking and Ivan was, of course, listening, “So Major Braginsky what do you plan to do when this war is over?” Ivan thought about it before responding, his voice was dry and tired, cheeks hollowed out more than usual as it had become increasingly harder to get items across the frozen lake Ladoga, “War is never over,” Alfred looked like he was going to object but opted for listening, “There will always be war, even if we do not see,” Ivan turned his head to look at the doctor, “One war may finish but new one will start. A new one will always start. May be between peoples and government, one person and other person, one person and life.” His English was choppy and he knew it, “But when this war finish. I will leave. I will leave this land, Europe. I will go where it is warm and sun always shine. Where the fascist have not tainted my land. Where I do not watch my fellow peoples starve. I want to leave very far away.” Tears began to roll down the major’s cheeks as he continued to try and hold his smile, “Even if war is not over is important to smile, yes?” The doctor found his own cheeks wet as he listened to Ivan’s broken speech. A speech with fight left in it as pain swamped it, one with a smile in it despite the time where death roamed earth the most, where humans became monsters because of the fear that plagued them. 

Days passed and Ivan didn't get better, his fever heightened to 105 °F and Alfred sat at his side the whole time as he was in a critical state. Alfred had put a wet rag on Ivan’s head, tears threatening to cascade down his cheeks as he watched this major. This wasn’t the major he had come around to care for, it wasn’t the major that stood like a large bear, the major that smiled and laughed in the face of death and the grimmest situations. Alfred had come to adapt that actually as he did his best to keep his patients joy filled and hopeful. The major that lay before him had sickly, chalky white skin and glossed over eyes with a grim frown that didn’t fit his feature. He had a bony chest that took shallow, weak breathes. He looked like a corpse to Alfred’s dismay. Alfred hated how Ivan looked and he wanted to fix all this, be his Major’s doctor and and make everything better but only patience and time would be the working factors in Ivan’s rise into recovery instead of fall into death.

“Doctor Zhones, what is your hate bird. What bird you hate most?” A few days had passed and despite his fever lowering it hadn’t broke but he was getting better, Alfred spoke softly, “Crows. I hate crows.”

Alfred suddenly spoke up, causing the Russian to look over to him, “Major Braginsky… do you think God is real? If so… why would he allow all this to happen? Isn’t he supposed to be a, oh I dunno, a good guy?” Ivan pondered for a moment before speaking, “Yes Doctor, I think God exist. He did not cause this, we did. Us greed human cause such world war to happen. God is not good or bad. He is just. He give out justice but is not ‘good guy’ he is just God…” he spoke softly, “We are reason such bad thing happen, not him.” Alfred only responded with an, “Oh… thank you.” Alfred looked over only to find the major sound asleep, chest rising and falling in wheezing breathes. Alfred stood and went to tend to the other patients, what Ivan said still reeling in his mind.

We caused this. We caused such a thing yet we keep smiling and pushing forward. Alfred didn’t know why he continued to smile and bring cheer. He thought for a while why. Why keep smiling? That would be a question to ponder.

Ivan was talking about his life to Alfred late one night. Talking about how his mother, a sweet woman with a strict parenting style named Czarina who taught him to make music boxes and how his father, a retired military general nicknamed General Winter for his icy cold attitude, taught him to sell. Ivan also spoke dearly about his sisters, how his older sister, Iruyna, gave him his scarf, the beige one that had, sadly, gotten covered in blood and how his younger sister, named Natalya, was incredibly clingy but truly a sweet girl deep down. Alfred listened and began to talk about his own life when Ivan finished. He spoke about his father, a grumpy British man named Arthur Jones who had moved to America after the First World War only to be drafted in this second war to Africa. Alfred moved onto his mother, a gorgeous and independent French woman named Catherine Bonnefoy who had run off to America with Arthur after they had fallen for each other. He moved onto to talk about his twin, Matthew, a soft spoken man who had been drafted to France instead of the Soviet Union. The rest of the day went like that, no real thought provoking conversations as they both looked back onto the past and revelled in it just for the day. Believe, that they were in a place far away from this hell hole even if only for a few hours. A few good hours.

“Hey Doctor Zhones?” Alfred looked up from his book as Ivan stirred into consciousness, “Yeah Major?” he spoke, using his rank as he was tired of stumbling over Ivan’s last name. “Can you look in bag? I made something for you while ago…” the Russian rasped as he spoke, “I never got chance to give you.” Alfred looked down at the once strong Major, a small frown on his face as the Russian rasped what seemed like a last hope. Ivan wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t die and Alfred would make sure of it. “Sure Major, biggest or smallest pocket?” Alfred asked picking up the heavy bag from the ground beside’s Ivan’s bed. The bag had blood covering it and the material was rough and scratchy as one of the zippers was hanging on in a desperate hope and the thread have sown themselves out from rough treatment. After a solid moment Ivan furrowed his brows as he did his darndest to remember, “B...Big pocket,” He spoke breaking into a wet and painful coughing fit. Alfred was quick to sit him up and press a thin cloth up to his lips as blood appeared on the white material to Alfred’s dismay. As soon as Ivan’s coughing fit came to a slow and exhausting stop the medic laid him back down against the scratchy pillows. “Open it…” mumbled Ivan as he gave a tiny smile, Alfred smiled back. It was important to smile, smile for Ivan. He pulled out a small box from the roughed up backpack it had a small crank was on the side of the tiny wooden box decorated with paintings of sunflowers and rose petals. Alfred opened it to reveal the insides of a music box with a small roughly made swan and blue jay upon the little throne, in a frozen dance, connected by wood of course as gravity refused to be defied. They were roughly made and painted but it was sweet. Ivan spoke up, “I made it. I found few supplies while looking around city and there was old workshop.” He spoke like a proud little child, “Listen.” he wheezed as Alfred couldn’t help but smile at the happy Soviet, a smile that could light up a room as he cranked the little handle on the little gift. The sweet and gentle tune of Swan Lake played throughout the tent from the tiny music box. The little swan and blue jay dance around each other in a frozen state of wood. Their two favorite birds… the two of them circling each other like the earth and the sun. Alfred gently put down the little music box and Ivan’s eyebrows furrowed in worry. Alfred moved forward and hugged the Russian, “Thank you… I love it Ivan.” The Red had frozen at the hug but he curled his arms around Alfred’s torso with a smile and hugged him close. They wished to stay like this forever, holding on tight as if something would rip them away from each other. They wanted to stay like this, without the pain and fear and bombs. Without the fascists that tainted the land they stepped on. They wanted peace.

Good things couldn’t last forever. Ivan’s fever returned a few nights later with a vengeance as it reached up to a height of 103°F. Ivan was in pain and Alfred knew it. He moaned softly as he tried to get away from the cold towelette and his cheeks and forehead were flushed red against the sickly pale skin. His eyes had bags of exhaustion under them that matched Alfred’s own as he had stayed up almost all night to help the hurting Soviet. “Alfed. Alfed I don’t want to be here.” Ivan cried out softly and it terrified Alfred to his very core, “Ok, where do ya wanna go Maj- Ivan where do you want to go?” Alfred refrained from using his title as he was positive that Ivan wouldn’t want to be reminded of the war. “Take me to America Alfred, take me to where the fascists have not tainted the land. Where I can run with no gunshots or death. Take me away from the bombs. Please Alfred. Take me away from the guns and the pain.” Tears began to roll down the Major’s cheeks. Alfred’s brows furrowed and he did his best not to frown, he had to be the sunshine for Ivan, he had to bring joy in such a dark time. How would Ivan get better if they were both mopey. Luckily, the higher ups had finally agreed to take Ivan to a hospital, he’d just have to last however long it took. Just just had to last. “Okay,” said Alfred, “I’ll take you. I’ll take you to disney and… and you’ll see all the beaches. Once this stupid war is over we’ll go to America with your sisters and sight see, there wont be a damn fascist in sight! You have to get better though. You have to promise you’ll be a hundred percent better for our trip. Alright? You promise to get better Ivan?” Ivan stared at him with bleary eyes, “Okay Alfed… I promise.” Alfred couldn’t help but find that lisp against his name endearing. Ivan’s lisp would always be there. Ivan would be fine. 

_ Ivan would live. _


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ones a long chapter.

**Ivan stood there. There Alfred was in an endless field of sunflowers, the bluest blue jays flew in the sky as swans swam in the lake. Alfred faced him and stared. Run. He ran towards Ivan, sprinting. “IVAN!” The major’s tall figure stood, a stark contrast against the lighter colors around him. The platinum blonde turned around to face Alfred with a smile. Always a smile. “Fedya.” As soon as the words left the Major’s mouth the sound of a bullet ripped through the air and a crimson red began to bloom and spread across his chest like unwanted weeds. Alfred wanted to scream out to him but not a peep of sound left as the flowers wilted at a terrifyingly fast pace, with the blue jay’s song stopped in favor for that suffocating silent as the lake turned red with blood, the swans disappearing along with Ivan who had crumpled to the ground. Alfred was running forward, not a single care as he dropped down beside Ivan and cradled the Slav to his chest. The Russian looked up at Alfred with that stupid little smile, blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth in a lazy waterfall.**

**_“Smile for me sunflower.”_ **

Alfred jolted awake, chest heaving as he couldn’t get enough air. He crawled out of his cot, the rough and scratchy bed sheets dangling off the bed. There was no longer the deafening silence from the dream as hurried chatter and distant gunfire and bombs replaced such a rare thing. Alfred was glad for it, the silence was ready to crush him. Alfred felt as if he was floating. His body was there but his mind just… it just wasn’t. He felt as if he was stumbling through fog in an ever changing corn maze. His chest felt heavy and his throat tight, he never seemed to see things right how he used to.

**_“Black swans. They are very beautiful but deadly.”_ **

He avoided the Majors, the soldiers, the Soviets, everyone. Everyone that reminded Alfred of  _ him _ . He gathered the medical gear and moved from patient to patient. He didn’t bother to conversate and gave curt answers when one of those he was treating attempted to strike up some sort of conversation. He treated them and left onto the next, throwing himself into work to forget everything. 

**_“Oh yes, I love them since I was little mal'chik.”_ **

The little music box sat untouched beneath his cot. The song of Swan Lake frozen just as the little Blue Jay and large Black Swan were in their never ending dance.  _ Their _ dance was supposed to last forever. 

**_“Take me to America Alfred, take me to where the fascists have not tainted the land.”_ **

Alfred wanted to cry. He wanted to scream into the past until his voice went hoarse. Wanted to scream at whatever God was up there. Scream at the higher-ups for not caring. Scream at those damn bastards that had started the war. He couldn’t though. He felt as if all the air in his lungs was trapped there and it wouldn’t come out. 

**_“Okay Alfed… I promise.”_ **

He had promised! The bastard had promised to get better. Promised he’d be fine. What he didn’t mention was that he’d die one night in his sleep. He wasn’t supposed to! He was supposed to be right here, right beside him. Ivan was supposed to be alive. If one would have asked Alfred to recall the exact moment Ivan died he’d be able to count every detail. How peaceful Ivan looked in his sleep, his face blank as his skin was pale without a fever. His hair askew as it formed a platinum blonde halo around his head. How he snored softly through his big nose. Everything seemed fine. Everything was fine until Ivan stopped. He stopped breathing, his heart came to an end as well as his life. Alfred had cradled him, there had been internal bleeding, too much internal bleeding. The lack of food didn’t help, as Ivan refused rations and half the time was coaxed by Alfred into a single bite before giving up as he’d feel too sick to eat. Alfred knew he was dying, his body eating away at its own insides as starvation settling in. Illness came after and weakened his falling defenses further. Alfred knew he was dying and blatantly ignored it for the sake of his own sanity and Ivan went right along with it because it meant he and Alfred could keep smiling.

The thought hit Alfred late one night. His heart ached at the thought. Ivan needed a reason to smile and Alfred had been that reason just as Ivan had been Alfred’s reason to smile. Did Alfred have a reason to smile anymore? 

As the question bounced around his head, he noticed the soldiers and other medics. Noticed little things. Like how soldiers would joke and laugh to distract themselves, smile despite everything. They’d share stories. It made Alfred’s stomach churn and eyebrows furrow as his fists clench. He turned away with a childish frown and headed off to his own tent to turn in for the night. 

Ivane bounced around in the very awake American’s head. His accent, his speech, his mannerisms, and all inbetween. Memories played out like a cruel film and it ended with salty tears landing on a beat up pillow. Alfred clutched the scratchy sheets and let out a sob into the pillow. Why?  _ Why why why why why?  _ It wasn’t fair! Ivan was meant to live! He was meant to come back from the battle with a grin as he bragged about how many fascists he mowed down! Sing about how his mother land would soon be free! Dance around and proclaim he’d do that over the next damn fascist he killed! He wasn’t meant to die... he was supposed to come back to Alfred. He  _ promised _ . 

**He was in the field again. The swans, the blue jays, the lake, the sunflowers, the perfectly good sky, but something was offbeat. No Ivan. Despite everything being the exact same there was no Ivan… there was no black swan either - only two sad looking white ones. Alfred looked away from the lake and back to where Ivan would stand. No Ivan but two women. To call one a woman was rather far fetched as she looked about sixteen-year-old years old. The other woman on the other hand looked much older than the little girl, maybe in her late twenties with a short bob with w white blouse and overalls--a possible headband in her hair is Alfred squinted. Curse his horrible dream eyesight. Alfred swore he saw them before. Then sobs ripped through the air, the women fell to their knees and cradled in their lap, a black swan.**

Alfred awoke with puffy red eyes and exhaustion weighing heavily on his chest, grinding his teeth as he dug his face into the mattress and wailed into the pathetic pillow. After a good amount of time he sat up and left, going to attend patients as his mind was filled with someone other than Ivan. Multiple somones actually. His father, his twin, his mother, and those two women. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were all still alive. He knew his mother would most likely still be alive but one never knew. How was it going in Africa? In France? Who were those two women? Was his mother alright? His heart and stomach clenched. He had thought about no one but Ivan. Ivan had made everything melt away, had made all the problems be forgotten. He had unknowingly pulled Alfred into a happy little fantasy, a nice bubble for the two of them. Until it popped right when Ivan breathed his last.

After maybe two weeks of mourning Alfred opened the cursed music box. He cranked it and allowed the little swan and jay to continued their eternal waltz. Alfred like to imagine it was a waltz. He looked at the bottom of the little box to find a page which was folded up, along with a photo. Alfred read it, a tsunami of grief passing over him. 

_ Dear Blue Jay, _

_ If you are reading this. I am dead, if I were to live I would have burned this letter. I am sorry. The war was hard and it got harder and harder to smile, but you bring light to everything. You bring light to me. You are a lantern in the dark for so many people. You are like a stubborn child, happy and cheerful. You inspire me to be happy. I have won many wars against life but this one is one I will regretfully lose. I wish I was there with you. I wish I was laughing and entertaining you, I wish I was there to see you smile. I wish I could go to America with you and my sisters and forget everything about this war. I wish for you to meet my sisters, you would love them. I wish for so many things, so many things that will never happen for me Little Blue Jay. I have died, if you are in a state of depression, envious of those who surround you, you must move on. You won’t live this war with continued grief. Please, take it as my last request. Don’t allow yourself to fall victim to sadness, live my little bird. Live free like the little blue jay you are. Go back to your family a man, no longer a boy. Be happy. Smile. _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Your Black Swan _

Tear drops landed on the paper, the theme of swan lake that came from the little music box playing throughout the small medical tent as Alfred crumpled the paper where is hands gripped it like a lifeline. A sob left his throat, then a tormented scream. Tears rolled down in waterfalls and hiccups wrecked his body. He read the letter repeatedly, to the point where he memorized every Cyrillic letter in the note left for Alfred. 

**_“But Doctor Zhones! I have you to patch me up again!”_ **

“Okay Ivan… I’ll smile for you.”


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this story! Kudos and Comments are appreciated.

Alfred walked into the house with a sigh. A melodic voice came from the kitchen that brightened the doctor’s day almost immediately. “Hello Irunya.” He spoke as he walked into the kitchen. A woman turned around the sweetest yet crooked smile that fit her face. Short platinum blonde locks framed her face in a cute bob as a headband held it in place, violet eyes stared at him, squinting at him because of the happy smile. “Hello Alfed! How are you doing today?” Her voice was sweet and sisterly. “I’m doing well. How about you?” Irunya smiled, “Very good! Natalya good as well. She is in room.” 

With that Natalya popped in the room Matthew not far behind, a surprise visit from his twin! Well wasn’t that a surprise. With a smile Alfred hugged Matthew, the quieter blonde pulled away from the hug to smile at him, “Gee I haven’t seen you in ages Alfred!” Matthew spoke sarcastically, he had gained quite an attitude after the war. “Bug off Matthew it’s only been two months. Anyways how have Dad and Mom been?” Alfred said as he took his seat at the dinner table. “They’re still the kooks they’ve always been Alfred. They never stop flirting Alfred. It’s torture! Hey… think Irunya would let me stay?” Alfred listened, amused as his brother gave googly eyes to the Russian. “I’m sure, but take her out on a date first. Jesus Matthew.” With that the twin’s face grew red and flustered, “H-Hey I- Well!” Matthew sputtered before giving up with a defeated sigh, “Yeah it is. I say go for it man. Nothing’s stopping you.” Matthew nodded to him, walking over to Irunya before quickly beginning to talk about food instead of what he had intended to do. 

“Coward.” Alfred mumbled playfully under his breath, a small smile gracing his features as he walked into the living room. He plopped down on the couch and took a small, old looking wooden box from his leather bag he had forgotten here last visit. He cranked it and listened, pulling out a tiny photograph of Ivan and Alfred. The photographer of war had given it to them as a small gift smiling at the two with twinkling eyes. Ivan was giving a crooked smile with a small cigar dangling from his mouth as Alfred looking on with a similar face, small smile with a cancer stick as arms were looped around each other's shoulders. Alfred ran his thumb across the image, smile prevalent as his eyes watered. “I did it Ivan. I won the war and smiled throughout it and I’ll keep smiling and winning. For you.”

**_“I will see you after battle Blue Jay.”_ **

**_“I’ll see you too Black Swan.”_ **


End file.
